Showing Leg
by lada1988
Summary: To find a next contact on the Blacklist Liz goes undercover as Red's German lover and meanwhile flashes a lot of leg. Red is enamored by her dress, and tries to prolong their time together any way he can- much to Liz's irritation. Lizzington.


**Hey there. I own nothing to do with NBC'S Blacklist, I'm just a fan who tunes in every week. Yes, this is my attempt at writing a Red and Liz fan fic. I read somewhere on here about prompts, which sounds amazing. This one is based on: Red sees Liz's thigh. LOL. I'll try to incorporate all the other prompts in next chapters: Liz wears Red's hat, she sees one of his tattoos, they dance, and Liz will be punching him as well. I apologize if it's terrible.**

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She looked around the outside of the car, confused. Dembe had parked precisely outside her front door. "Why are we at my house? I thought we were going to find your next contact?"

"Oh, we are," Red assured her quietly. "But for where we are going Lizzie, you'll have to wear something a little more... revealing. If we go in with you wearing what you are now, our disguise will be instantly ruined. With those god-awful clothes you are wearing now, you literally scream 'Agent'. "

_God-awful?_ Liz smoothed her hand down the side of her trousers self-consciously. She was wearing a white blouse, with a navy blue jacket on top and blue trousers. She hadn't realized what she often wore for work was terrible. It was practical and professional, and that was all that mattered to her when she dressed in the mornings.

She just wanted to get the whole thing over with. The fact that she had to change into something else made her unhappy. And how dare he comment on her clothing tastes. "Fine," she sighed, reaching for the door handle. "I'll go change." Just as she climbed her way out of the limousine, Red was calling out to her. She peered in at him, her eyes narrowed. "What now?"

"Use my tip, please. No olives and certainly no pastels."

"No olives or pastels," she repeated with a firm nod. "Anything else while you're at it?"

"Dress like my lover, Lizzie. I want you shining out there." Liz gave him the most dangerous look she could manage, and he shrugged it off, his mouth still set in an arrogant line.

Dress like the _Concierge of Crime_'s lover? Oh, the nerve!

She slammed the door with a little more effort than she was meant to. Sliding her handbag over her shoulder, she ran up the stairs to the front door of her and Tom's place, her keys jiggling in her hand. Once she got the door unlocked and slipped inside, Hudson, their dog, was jumping all over her and wagging his tail in excitement.

Chiding the over excited dog, she briskly went upstairs to her bedroom and began searching in her closets for something that would pass as 'revealing' in Raymond Reddington's books. She still had her white, fluffy wedding dress she wore with Tom, but the thought of wearing that during a job or even in front of another man felt wrong to her. She smiled to herself at the countless number of dresses in her wardrobe that she hadn't worn for years and years. She pulled out a light blue, halter neck dress that she faintly remembered wearing while out clubbing with Tom twelve months ago. She had garnered a big reaction from men, particularly because the dress had a naughty little slit. Staring at it closely, she made up her mind and dragged the dress over to her bed and started removing her jacket and blouse.

She slid the dress off the hanger, then remembered about shoes. She chose a pair of black stilettos to go with the dress and stood back to look at her outfit on the bed in satisfaction. It certainly wasn't olives and pastels and, once Red saw her stepping out of the apartment in it, she hoped he would be blown away. The idea of seeing his expression with her wearing such a provocative dress left her feeling cheerful and excited for some reason. It had been a very, very long time since she dressed up for any man.

She picked up the dress and squeezed her way into it, and then she slipped her feet into the stilettos before turning to the mirror near the bed her and Tom slept in. Liz's stomach rolled at her appearance and she suddenly wondered if she was taking it a bit too far. The dress seemed to fit perfectly despite it having been probably over a year since she had worn it, it complimented her milky complexion wonderfully, but it was that slit that made her doubt it the most. The slit in the fabric didn't finish until it reached the top of her outer thigh and there was a lot of leg showing.

"What the hell am I doing?" she asked her reflection helplessly. "I have a husband. Why am I dressing for another man and pretending to be his lover?"

Saying that to herself made her realize she was still wearing her wedding ring. She slid it off her finger and left the golden band safely on the bedroom table while she started with her make-up and hair. She put her brunette hair up into a messy bun, slid it in place carefully and neatly with clips, and found the reddest shape of lipstick she owned.

Puckering her lips, she dabbed it on then stood back to look at her work.

She still didn't feel right at all in wearing a naughty dress and dressing up for another man who wasn't Tom, but Liz was dedicated to her job. This was all it was, she had to remind herself so she didn't panic. This was a part of her job, she was going undercover with Reddington to find the next man on his Blacklist. This wasn't all fun and games, and it wasn't about being unfaithful to her husband. This was protocol.

"Elizabeth, don't be a wimp," she told her reflection again strongly. "You look amazing. You're just going to find this contact and then after that, you'll head back home to your husband. Big deal."

No matter how many times she spoke to herself encouragingly, she still felt terrible.

Back in the car, Red was looking at his Tablet, scrolling down the days events of news for anything exciting, when Dembe reached behind the driver's partition with his hand and patted him on his knee to get his attention.

"Red, sir," Dembe said urgently.

"What, Dembe?" He asked, preoccupied.

"Red," Dembe repeated softly. "You should probably take a look at this."

"Tell me it's something wickedly interesting, Dembe."

He turned to look himself, and it felt as if his heart had dramatically stopped in his chest. His Agent Keen was standing there, hands clasped tightly in front of her, and she looked uncomfortable and embarrassed. Red had seen Liz dressed in many ways since they started working together- lovely and conservative, in God-awful colors that didn't match her- but never had he seen her like this. She looked like a completely new woman. Well, not exactly, as she was still Lizzie. She had kept true to her word; No pastels, no olives, and she looked absolutely divine. Sexy even. Red especially enjoyed the personal touch with the slit in the side of her dress, showing off one of her muscular thighs. Red had always firmly believed his Lizzie had terrible taste in clothing, but now... not so much. She had proved him wrong and he loved her even more for it.

His lover indeed, and much to his luck, he would get to have such a fine specimen hanging off his shoulder for the world to see all night. It was the closest he was probably ever going to get.

"Do you think I should hop out and help Agent Keen into the car, Dembe?"

"Well, it _would_ be polite, sir."

"Let's just hope I don't fall at her feet," Red said, with a forced laugh.

When she heard the car open and saw Red get out, Liz turned her eyes elsewhere so she didn't have to look at him and see his reaction. Although she had felt excited about seeing his reaction before while getting changed, now she felt anything but. She felt sick with nerves and she felt shivery in her dress. She let her eyes fall on him for the briefest second before turning away again. He had removed his hat off his head, hand clutching the fedora over the left side of his chest, and she saw genuine awe and warmth in his crinkled eyes for her. It made her want to vanish into thin air.

"Oh, Lizzie," he began, and he sounded uncharacteristically breathless. "Look at you. You look absolutely..." He couldn't seem to find the right words, and Liz felt more confident due to it. She had him speechless for once, and that was a great feeling. "Oh, and the amount of thigh you are showing just for me, Lizzie. You have truly outdone yourself."

"Now is not the time for compliments, Red," she muttered, trying to sound casual and untethered by what she was wearing. But he had to point out that slit in her dress, didn't he? Damn him. "This isn't for you, this is for the contact, remember?"

When he stood around, scrutinizing her in her dress appreciatively with those eyes of his that seemed to have the ability to see straight through her, she could feel her temper coming to her.

"Look, can we get moving already? We don't have time to just stand around all day. Take me to your contact."

Hearing the frustration in her voice, Red complied, holding the door of the limousine open for her chivalrously. Getting into the back seat was not an easy task in the dress and heels she was wearing. Dembe was watching her every move and it embarrassed her even more.

"You're looking beautiful, Ms. Keen," he said approvingly.

Liz sighed and tried to fix her dress as she shuffled in. It was a hard dress to feel comfortable in; She crossed her legs and curled her arms over her knees. It felt strange without her wedding ring on, and she caught herself stroking the place on her finger where it usually sits absently with her forefinger. Once Red was seated beside her, Dembe pulled out onto the road again. She could feel Red's eyes resting on her face as he fiddled with the brim of his hat and it made her uneasy.

In order to break the silence in the limo, she spoke: "So, who is our contact? What's his name?"

"You removed your wedding ring, Lizzie."

Of course Red noticed. He seemed to notice_ everything_.

"I did," she confirmed quietly. "I thought it would be best. I can't be your fake lover if I'm wearing a wedding ring on my finger, can I?"

"How does it feel to be going undercover as my lover when you are married? Do you feel as if you are betraying your husband?"

"Yes," she said. But she answered too quickly. Why should she have any reason to feel as if she was betraying Tom? This was all for work purposes, after all. There was no truth in anything that was bound to happen once they entered wherever they were going. It was just about the contact. Nothing else. "Actually, no. It doesn't feel as if I'm betraying Tom at all. This is my job. Now, let's move on to this contact." She shifted slightly in her seat to face him. "Who is our contact?"

She knew he would have preferred nothing more than to interrogate her with his uncomfortable personal questions, when he sighed heavily. He rolled his eyes and began, with a bored air that didn't go unnoticed by her, "The next target on the Blacklist is named Sylvester Horton. He runs a little bar in downtown Washington, which is where we are heading now. He has a known weakness for women."

"Which is why I'm dressed like this?" Liz guessed confidently.

"Exactly. The women he hires has a habit of going missing every month and turning up dead weeks later miles from his location."

"He kills them and then disposes of their bodies?"

"Well, that's the question, isn't it? He has connections, helpful connections. Connections that can give him convincing alibis and keep him out of prison."

"If he's known to murder the women he hires, then why hasn't he been incarcerated?"

"It's just as I said, Lizzie. Alibis. Convincing alibis are your get-out-of-jail-for-free card."

"And the reason I'm dressed like this is because you want me to seduce him? Capture his attention? Make myself his next potential target?"

"Well done, Lizzie. You are exceptionally fast today."

She ignored that comment. "Then why am I pretending to be your lover if I'm seducing him? What's the point of that?"

"Some men enjoy catching someone who has already been caught. It's the way he operates. He doesn't care about relationship status or the man you are with, Lizzie. To him, it's an enjoyable game."

When he fell into silence, just staring at her, Liz raised her brows. "Well, go on. What else do I need to know?"

"That is all, Lizzie," he said wryly, and she slowly became aware of how close they were sitting to each other in the seat.

Their faces were near and his shoulder was pressed against hers; Their bodies positioned to look at each other and her knee touching his trousers.

Although she had worked with him for a while now, she still couldn't feel completely comfortable in his presence. Added to the fact that she was wearing a dress she never dreamed of wearing ever again, and the fact that she was meant to be his pretend lover, she felt strangely vulnerable and exposed. With Reddington she never knew his motives ahead of time, and sometimes he did things completely unexpected. If she was going to be his pretend lover, she knew she would feel better with some very strict ground rules in place.

"I think now is a great time to lay down several guidelines before I don't have the chance," she began urgently, turning her eyes on him seriously. She found he was staring at her lips as she spoke, and it threw her off for a moment. _Was her lipstick smudged?_ "Number one: No inappropriate touching. If I'm going to do this, then it has to be my way. Number-"

He interrupted her quickly. "It seems we are already having a dilemma, Lizzie. Inappropriate touching might mean something entirely different to you, than what it does to me. What exactly, in your mind, constitutes as inappropriate touching?" She heard the amusement in his voice, loud and clear.

He probably just wanted her to have to say it because he knew how uncomfortable it would make her. Reddington seemed to enjoy discomforting her on a daily basis.

"You _know_ what I mean," she said flatly.

"Do I, Lizzie?" He raised his eyebrows, but his face remained impassive. Only his rich, deep voice gave him away completely. He was enjoying playing ignorant.

"Okay," she sighed resignedly. She could tell she was getting nowhere. "I guess what I am trying to say here is for you to keep in mind that I'm a married woman and that there are specific lines that you do not cross with a taken woman. I'm not here with you for any funny business. "

He laughed and her own eyes were drawn to his mouth involuntarily as the pleasant sound erupted through his teeth. "Lizzie, half the women I have been involved with were married or at the very least engaged."

It wasn't a very encouraging thing for her to know.

"In my time I have been a very irresponsible man when it comes to beautiful women."

"Well, you've been warned."

"That's the thing about warnings, isn't it?" he asked out-loud musingly. "To certain types of men, a warning means nothing. It's only a challenge."

She ignored him with some effort and looked ahead of them at the road. It was turning out to be an incredibly long drive. "What's taking so long?"

"The lunch time rush, I suppose," Red said, peering down at his wrist watch. He made an odd noise at the back of his throat, as if remembering something, "Which reminds me, I'm starving. We'll have lunch once we arrive. Luckily the food is decent where we are going."

"Lunch?" She repeated, feeling irritated. So she did feel hungry herself, but having lunch with him was pushing it. "Let's not. Let's just find this contact as quickly as possible and get it over with."

Red looked disgusted as he turned to look at her. "What fun is there in that, Lizzie?"

"I'm not here to have lunch with you. Can we please just hurry this up?"

"Don't be such a sour-puss, Lizzie. Besides, Dembe is driving as quickly as he can given the traffic conditions, aren't you Dembe?"

Dembe behind the driver's seat spoke up. "That's true, Red, sir."

"See? We have all the time in the world."

"_You_ do, maybe," she shot back, staring out the tinted windows. She could see that the traffic was, in fact, slower today. It was irritating.

"How are things going with your husband, Lizzie?" Red asked, trying to get the conversational ball rolling to speed up the time.

She turned in her seat, narrowing her eyes at him. His bright eyes were still on her lips. "I am not going to talk about my marriage to you. How many times do I have to say it?" She spoke it slowly and clearly through her teeth, hoping the warning would finally leave its effect on him for good. It was disarming the way his eyes were taking in the movement of her lips, and nothing more. She really wished he would stop it. "It's really none of your business, how my marriage is going."

"Or ending," he muttered, and just before she could really voice her hurt, he said placatingly, "That's a lovely shade of lipstick you're wearing, Lizzie. You should wear it more often."

"Trust me: I'm regretting wearing it now considering the way you can't seem to stop staring at my mouth when I talk."

His eyes finally moved to her eyes and her entire body seemed to loosen.

"You never went through with the adoption, Lizzie. How did Tom take that?"

No matter how many times she tried to stress he had no right to pry into her personal life, it never seemed to get to his brain.

"None of your business. Do I have to say that over and over to you?"

"Whenever you are ready to talk, I will always be there to listen." His eyes sparkled with sincerity. "You know that you can trust me. You can tell me anything, Lizzie." He reached over and pressed the heel of his hand into her kneecap.

She couldn't deny the offer was tempting, but instead she pressed her lips together. It would have been lovely to be able to talk to someone about her troubles with Tom, she knew. But telling Raymond Reddington all her troubles would have only given him something personal to use to his advantage and she didn't want to risk that.

"Maybe another time," she said dismissively, although another time would most likely be never in her view. "Thanks for the offer, though."

"You're very welcome. Now, returning to the matter at hand, how are you with accents?"

Liz turned to look at him in confusion, arching her brows. "Accents?"

"Yes, accents. I have decided that you are going to be my lover from Rugen Island. We met there and stayed in a charming little villa with the seaside as our backdrop."

"Rugen Island?" she repeated slowly. She wasn't familiar with it. "As in... Germany?"

"Yes, Germany." He nodded, appearing pleased. "You agreed to come with me back to Washington on my jet, and we have been steady lovers ever since." It never failed to impress Liz how quickly he could come up with fake stories.

"Wait, you want me to try having a German accent?" Liz had never been particularly good with accents, and attempting to master a German one in such short time and notice, was bound to be challenging. "Or better yet, I'll just pretend I don't understand a single thing anyone is telling me. How's that? Do you even know... German?" She knew he knew French, but that was it.

"I do, Lizzie."

She felt giddy with relief. "Then you just say whatever you want in German and I'll pretend to understand you."

The car pulled up then, and Dembe turned in his seat to peer back at them, "We've at last arrived at your destination."

"Finally," Liz grumbled under her breath.

Red climbed out of the car and held his hand out to Liz. She took it, hoping he knew it also meant she was trusting him with her life.

"I'll enter in half an hour," Dembe said, and Red nodded. They waited as the car left before she turned and faced him nervously. Naturally his eyes were on her with unnerving intensity and he licked his lips.

"Okay, let's get this over with." He offered her his arm and she slipped her hand around it. She took the moment to look his outfit over; He was wearing a tailored black suit, with a white button-down shirt underneath, and a crimson tie fastened around the collar. He looked very good, dare she think it, even for a notorious criminal. Slightly out-of-place, because she was the one dressed so over-the-top with the slit in her dress and three inch stilettos, but still, he looked handsome nonetheless. She smiled at him tentatively and his eyes were glued to her lips again. She vowed then never to wear dazzling bright red lipstick ever again. "Are you ready?" Her voice shook and she knew he caught onto the nervous edge in her voice.

"Ready as ever. You look nervous, Lizzie."

"I am," she confessed, slightly unwillingly. "I hope this doesn't go wrong."

"It won't. And, if it does, you have me here with you." He moved nearer to her and slipped his arm around her waist instead, pulling her in close. Her breath hitched in her throat at the closeness, but she ignored saying anything. "I won't let anything happen to you."

He started leading her towards the building and her heart began racing.

"Now's the time to start your German," she whispered to him.

And start, Red certainly did.

The instance they stepped inside, his mouth was near her ear and he was sprouting off things under his breath that she couldn't understand. She nodded, playing along with him, while her eyes searched their surroundings. The room was crowded and filled with people. She had no idea which one was their contact.

"Where is he?" she hissed at him, cutting through his long winding German tirade. "Is he even here yet?"

"Over there," Red whispered back, motioning to a woman who was standing near a desk.

"What? That's a woman and she's the receptionist!"

"Lunch, Lizzie," he reminded her, his hand on the lower part of her back pushing her forward.

"You have to be kidding me," she growled under her breath.

"Where is a pen when you need one? We both know how much you love your pens."


End file.
